His dream was different this time. Even more terrifying than usual.

It had started out the same. He was in the water. Unable to breathe, unable to move. And then he *was* breathing, but liquid not air. The water was an icy knife slicing through his throat and chest. His mouth was open to scream but he couldn't make a sound. He always died just that way, in horrible silence.

Usually, after the terrible death, he was wrenched from sleep, sweating and fighting for air. He would lie there, staring at the darkness, until the sun rose and he gave up, got up, and showered.

But this time, after he drew the cold needles of water into his lungs, he found himself in sunlight, bright and blinding. He was standing next to a fountain--next to *the* fountain--and he was completely alone.

The fountain itself wasn't turned on, the water in its basin a still pool of featureless gray. It gave back no reflection of sky or sun.

Everything was silence. No whisper of wind, no human voice or animal call disturbed the eerie quiet of the place.

"You will have to learn," said someone behind him and he whirled.

It was Incacha, the Chopec shaman.

The dead Chopec shaman.

Relief flooded through him, the terror subsiding just a bit. He was not alone. Alone--and in this place--was more frightening than the dying had been.

What does this mean? he tried to ask. He felt his mouth move, but no sounds came out.

"You value now, but still you don't understand," Incacha said. "It will be difficult, but you both must learn to see through other eyes."

The old shaman stepped into the pool of water surrounding the fountain. "With your strength, he can face his fear. With his, you will conquer your own." Incacha smiled and slowly began to sink. "In time."

The water closed over the old shaman's head and he was gone.

Another sound pierced the silence, a rhythmic noise. The man looked, but at first could see nothing to cause such a sound. And then he saw the wolf.

The huge gray animal appeared from behind a tall hedge. It bounded across the grass, running straight for him.

He tried to evade the attack, but was rooted in place. His legs wouldn't move. The wolf leapt at him.

With a gasp, Jim Ellison came awake. Sweat-drenched, he lay in bed breathing hard, trying to calm his racing pulse.

"Jim?"

He flinched violently. The soft voice--Blair's voice--was only a foot from his face.

"Ch-Chief?" he managed to stammer. He could just make out the dark shape of his friend, kneeling by the bed.

"Jim, what's that thumping noise?" Blair asked worriedly. "It's...wrong. It's too fast."

Thumping noise?

"Something's wrong," Blair insisted. "It's way too fast." A pause. "It sounds like it's coming from you. Are you okay?"

Thumping noise. Coming from him. Shit.

Jim inhaled deeply and exhaled, then said, as evenly as he could, "I'm fine. Go back to bed. You're having a dream."

"You don't sound fine," the younger man said uncertainly. "You're sweating."

Jim paused, allowing his breathing to slow further toward normal. "This is a dream, Chief," he finally answered. "Go back to bed now."

Blair still hesitated, listening. "It's not so fast any more," he finally said. "I'm dreaming?"

"Yes, you're dreaming," Jim repeated firmly. "Go to bed."

"You're okay?"

"I'm fine. Go back to bed."

Blair stood and went down the stairs.

Jim lay breathing deeply but as quietly as possible. He heard his roommate's footsteps fade with distance, then heard the doors to his room close behind him.

He could not hear Blair's heartbeat and breathing slow into the rhythms of sleep, though the distance between their rooms and the loudness of the rain outside would usually be no barrier to his hearing.

He had seen nothing more than the dark outline of Blair's shape, though the two o'clock blackness of a cloudy night was usually no barrier to his sight.

Jim's senses were completely normal.

Which meant things were far from normal.

His sentinel senses were gone. He felt as though he were wrapped in cotton, as though the world was a flatter, duller, dimmer place. Though unpleasant, it was not entirely unfamiliar; it had happened before.

This other thing--that had *never* happened before.

Jim lay unmoving,worried he'd awaken Blair. When he realized he was holding his breath, he silently cursed and exhaled.

The "thumping noise" that had awakened Blair had been the sound of Jim's heart racing during the strange dream. That sound had drawn Blair from his room and up the stairs without the aid of lights. Though the loft was black as pitch, he'd even seen the sweat on Jim's face.

Jim wondered briefly if he should go downstairs and check on Blair. No, he decided. Morning would be soon enough to try to explain what he thought had happened.

And exactly what *had* happened? Jim had lost his hypersenses, that much was obvious. But why? Because Incacha thought Jim--and Blair--needed a life-lesson? Or maybe just because Incacha, dead, had an even stranger sense of humor than when he was alive.

A life-lesson.

How the hell was he supposed to explain that to his friend?

//Morning, Sandburg. Incacha came to me in a dream and told me I'm so screwed up, we gotta trade lives for a while. You protect the city, and I'll try not to let you zone out and get killed.//

Right. He'd done a great job of not getting Sandburg killed so far, hadn't he?

Jim's nightmares of drowning had been triggered by what had been, a few weeks earlier, undeniably the worst day of his life. Blair had drowned in the same fountain that had appeared in Jim's dream tonight. He'd been murdered by a woman with the enhanced senses of a sentinel but no conscience at all, a rogue. She'd used Blair to help her gain some measure of control over her abilities, then, recognizing him as an obstacle in her plan to seduce Jim, she'd killed him.

Only in the privacy of his own thoughts, could Jim put the terrible words together--Blair had been killed. Blair had died.

"It will be difficult," Incacha had said.

No shit.

Hard enough to keep him safe from the dangers being Jim's partner brought--forget hard, it was impossible. The memory of Blair facedown in that damn fountain reminded him of that about eight times a day.

So if he couldn't protect Blair when he had his sentinel abilities, how the hell was he supposed to do it when he didn't?

When Blair had them.

Jim shivered. He'd been one insane son-of-a-bitch when those senses had kicked in, before he knew what the hell was going on. Thinking that Blair might have *that* to look forward to made his blood run cold.

He sighed. Sleep. He needed sleep if he was going to deal with this tomorrow.

Tomorrow--when the world was going to be a very different place for the man sleeping downstairs.

Consciously, he emptied his mind, practicing meditation techniques Blair had taught him. At last, meditation (and exhaustion) overcame worry and Jim slept.

In the room directly below, Blair frowned and mumbled in his sleep. But the thudding noise had settled into a slower, steadier rhythm, and he didn't wake again.

The rain continued to fall.

* * * * *

The smell of coffee woke him.

Jim opened his eyes and inhaled, savoring the rich aroma. A great way to wake up on a rainy Sunday--

Oh, hell.

Memory returned in a rush. Experimentally, he tried dialing up his hearing. Nothing happened. All he could hear was the rain.

"Sandburg?" he called tentatively. "You down there?"

No reply.

Unpleasant, not to be able to find him by his heartbeat. Jim had grown accustomed--after that day at the fountain--to listening periodically to that sound for the simple reassurance it brought. A couple of times he'd lain in bed and let it wash over him as he was falling asleep. The guilty secret of an ex-Marine police detective.

Roughly, Jim dragged himself out of his reverie. He was practically zoning on the *memory* of Blair's heartbeat. Enough already. Time to face this day.

He left the warmth of the bed and was surprised by how chilly the air was. Was that a draft he felt?

He quickly donned a pair of sweat pants. After pulling a T-shirt over his head, he headed for the stairs. As he started down, he saw that the door to the balcony was ajar. It swayed slightly as the intermittent wind blew cold rain against it.

Why the hell was the door open? No wonder he was freezing.

What he saw on the balcony drove that thought from his mind and stopped him in his tracks.

Blair was standing outside in the midst of the pouring rain. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts.

"Sandburg!" Jim yelled. "What're you doing out there?"

Blair gave no response, never even twitched.

*Not already!* was Jim's dismayed thought as he bounded down the stairs and out the open door. The rain was so cold he gasped when it struck him.

"Sandburg!" he shouted. Blair was immobile, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips. Rain poured off him; tendrils of his long curly hair were plastered across his face. His lips were blue with cold.

Jim grabbed his arms, shaking him violently. "Sandburg! Damn it, snap out of it!"

Blue eyes flew open. Released from his strange trance, the cold penetrated at once and Blair doubled over with a gasping cry.

"Jim! What the hell--!" he sputtered. "It's p-pouring rain!"

Jim unceremoniously lifted him over one shoulder and hauled him quickly inside. Kicking the door closed, he dumped Blair on the couch and wrapped him in the light blanket that lay folded on the back of the sofa. He began vigorously massaging the younger man's arms and legs.

"W-what--?" Blair said helplessly. "Why w-were w-w-we outs-s-s-s--" Chattering teeth and Jim's treatment got the better of Blair's bewilderment, and he gave up trying to finish the question.

Jim flipped the corner of the blanket over Blair's head and turned his attention to his roommate's sodden hair, running rivers of water down his back.

His devotion to the task bordered on obsession. From inside the cocoon of violently flapping blanket, Blair protested, "Hey, s-stop. It's okay, man. Let me go p-put on some clothes."

Jim didn't appear to hear him.

Blair worked an arm free and swatted at Jim's hands. "Jim, man, take it eas--ow! Stop! Hey, will you quit! You're killing me!"

Jim backed off. He went to the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and brought it to Blair.

Meanwhile, Blair freed his head from the tangled blanket. His long hair standing out wildly in all directions, he glared at his friend and grumbled, "Leave me a *little* s-skin, would you? And why the h-hell were you out on the balcony...."

His voice trailed off as he took in his friend's appearance. Jim's face was strained, pale, his blue eyes filled with worry. He was soaking wet, of course, but the tremors in the hand that held out the mug of coffee didn't seem to be caused only by cold.

"Are you okay?" Blair asked, taking the coffee cup in both hands. "What happened? I mean, what were you doing out there?" Guilt widened his eyes. "Did you zone out? Oh, man, did I miss--"

"Me?" For a few seconds, Jim was speechless, then he shook his head and added, "No, Chief, *I* didn't zone out. We gotta talk. But first you need to get dry. *I* need to get d-dry." He shivered violently. "Damn, it's cold in here! Go get some clothes on."

Jim headed upstairs to his room. He dried off and and put on fresh clothes--lots of clothes--T-shirt, sweatshirt, sweat pants, a pair of thick white socks. If I had Sandburg's ugly fur hat, he thought, I'd put that on, too.

When he returned downstairs, Blair was emerging from the bathroom, toweling his hair. He wore shorts and a faded pink T-shirt. Jim shivered again just looking at him.

"Did you turn the heat up?" Blair asked. "I mean, it finally feels comfortable in here."

"Heat," Jim said, hitting himself on the forehead. "There's an idea." He eased the thermostat up a few degrees to compensate for the balcony door having been left open--for how long?--then he went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He stood by the counter sipping it and silently watched Blair dry his hair. Anything to put off the inevitable.

Blair, bent over, lifted the front edge of the towel and peered up at Jim. "So why were you on the balcony?" he asked.

So much for putting it off.

"Chief, I need to tell you something," Jim said, ignoring the question. "It's going to sound crazy, but...I had,um, I had this dream last night, and--"

"That's bizarre, man," Blair interrupted, balling up the towel and tossing it back toward the bathroom. "I had a really funky dream, too. Kept hearing this thumping noise. Like a drum song, but not. I was trying to find out where it was coming from." He stopped abruptly. "Wait a minute. There it is again."

"Sandburg," Jim said loudly. "Listen to me."

Blair blinked a few times, focusing on his friend again. "Oh, sorry, man. I interrupted. You said you had a dream?"

Jim swallowed coffee, cradling the mug in his hands. "Incacha was in my dream," he said. Blair showed surprise and opened his mouth, but he managed to bite back comment and Jim went on. "Incacha told me...he told me something was going to happen."

"That's it?" Blair said when Jim stopped. "Man, that's a little vague even for Incacha."

"No, that's not it." Jim fastened his eyes on his coffee mug. "Incacha told me, uh, we had to see through...other eyes. He said it would be difficult. He said, um, my strength would help...would help you and that--oh, brother--that yours would, well, help, um, me and--" He exhaled sharply and blurted, "Chief, my sentinel abilities are gone. It's all gone."

Blair had grown increasingly confused during Jim's halting speech. Now, he rocked backward in shock. "Gone? Well, why didn't you say that to begin with! Have you eaten anything weird--remember what happened the time you took the cold medicine? Oh, and when Rafe had that Victoria's Secret catalog with the perfume samples in it--"

"It's not a reaction to perfume!" Jim sat his coffee mug on the counter with a thump. "Blair, I'm trying to tell you that I think *you've* got my sentinel abilities! Somehow they've been taken away from me and given to you as a...a life-lesson. Or maybe somebody's idea of a goddamned joke!"

Blair looked at his angry roommate for a long, unblinking moment.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Jim, that's ridiculous," he said, still chuckling. "You're just having some weird reaction to food or carpet cleaner or something. But don't worry, man, we'll figure it out. We always do, right?"

Jim covered the distance between them in three long strides. His hand flashed out and grabbed Blair's damp hair. "And how do you explain this, Einstein? You usually take a stroll on the balcony in near-freezing rain with no clothes on? How long were you out there? Damn it, if the smell of the coffee hadn't woke me up, you might *still* be out there!"

Blair was taken aback by his friend's sudden violence, but he recovered quickly. "You zoned out on the balcony. You just don't remember it," he said in a soothing tone. Jim made a disgusted sound and let go of him. "I was making coffee--" Blair stopped and frowned, uncertainty creeping in. "I was...making coffee. I set it to come on automatically because I was going to take a shower first, but then...then the rain sounded odd. Almost musical. I mean, did you ever notice how many different tones it makes? Hitting concrete sounds completely different from hitting metal or wood. And the sound it makes when it falls on the ocean is--"

"Blair!" Jim said sharply, and the younger man's eyes came back to him.

"I heard that?" Blair asked, confused. "I heard the rain falling out on the ocean? That's not possible."

"It is for a sentinel," Jim said. He dropped tiredly on the couch. "I've listened to it dozens of times. You must've gone out onto the balcony to listen and just--well, you zoned."

Shocked disbelief transformed Blair's face. "No!" he said. He backed away from Jim toward the kitchen, as though to escape what he was hearing. "No, that's not possible. It's too ridiculous! I'm no sentinel, man. That's *your* job. I'm the guide, remember? I've got enough to do trying to get a handle on the whole shaman thing." He frowned suddenly. "What *is* that noise? Is the stereo on?"

He glanced at the stereo system across the room and suddenly swayed drunkenly. He took a step forward and his knees buckled.

Jim vaulted over the back of the couch and was there to catch the younger man as he fell. "Take it easy, Chief. The stereo's not on."

"Whoa. Dizzy. I'm really dizzy," Blair murmured, as Jim helped him to the couch. "Felt like I was flying across the room toward the stereo, even though I wasn't moving."

Jim sat on the coffee table in front of him.

Blair shook his head in confusion. "What'd I just say?"

"It's okay, buddy. Just take it easy. We'll figure this thing out."

Blair stopped rubbing his temples and his head came up. "Jim, that noise--if it's not the stereo, then what is it? It's sort of a low thudding. It's been going on the whole time we've been talking. Sometimes slower, sometimes faster, but always there."

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but Blair went on, "Man, it's, like, way beyond crazy, I know, but I could swear it's coming from you." His eyes shifted from Jim's face to his chest. "And it's soothing somehow. Very rhythmical. It just fills my whole head until I can't...hear...anything...else...."

Blair's eyes grew distant, and he froze in place, staring at Jim's chest.

"Sandburg!" the detective exclaimed in shock. "Chief, you with me?"

There was no answer.

Blair had just zoned out.

On Jim's heartbeat.